"Baa-chan… is this what you call a 'double bed'?"
Kuroha Akira stared at the object nestled in the depths of the storage room, feeling a profound sense of speechlessness.
The so-called 'double bed' was, in fact, a bunk bed.
"That's right. It's been here for years… Hmm, still seems quite sturdy. Looks usable." Granny Kobayashi walked over, gripped the metal ladder frame, and gave it a firm shake, testing its stability. A nostalgic smile softened her usually stern features.
"Why would you even have something like this?" Akira asked, bewildered. "Did you have a lot of kids?"
"I only had one son."
"Then who was this for?"
"It's something my old man and I used before we lived here. We stopped using it after we moved, but I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it. Never thought it'd see the light of day again."
"Why did you stop using it later?"
At this question, Granny Kobayashi shot him a look of pure, unadulterated contempt that clearly said, 'Do you really need to ask?'
Right. Of course. Akira mentally face-palmed. The reason was obvious. Once they were married, they shared a proper bed. What use was a bunk bed for a couple?
"Before we made things official, our relationship was… ambiguous. But I refused to leave his side. So, he made this for me himself."
"The old man built this? He had skills like that?" Akira was impressed. Not many people could just handcraft a bed.
"He did. Said it was to commemorate his time in the military."
"The military… So he was a soldier."
That explained it. It was a replica of a standard-issue military bunk bed. No wonder it looked so utilitarian—devoid of aesthetic flair, purely functional. It reminded Akira vividly of his university days in his past life. During his freshman and sophomore years, he'd lived in an eight-person dorm, sleeping on identical frames.
Those days were chaotic, loud, and incredibly simple. Eight boys in one room was a perpetual idea factory, a daily carnival of dumb schemes and roaring laughter that echoed down the hallways.
Happiness was that straightforward back then. From junior year, he'd moved to a four-person dorm. The conditions were better, but a certain lonely feeling crept in… Even though his old roommates lived next door and the comings and goings were just as lively, the unique, brotherly camaraderie of sharing a bunk bed frame was gone. He even missed the silly hierarchy of being the 'dad' to his obedient 'sons.'
Anyway, having any bed was definitely superior to the living room sofa.
"He started out in the military. The reason I even met him back then was because his status was rather special… Ah, but that's all old history. No point digging it up now." Granny Kobayashi waved a hand, dismissing the past, and pointed at the bed. "Drag it out, give it a good wipe-down, and haul it up to your room."
"Baa-chan," Akira asked, a mischievous glint in his eye, "did you sleep on the top bunk or the bottom back then?"
"The bottom… Why do you ask?"
"No reason. So you've always preferred the bottom position."
"YOU STINKING LITTLE—! &%￥#@&*$%!!!"
Akira's deliberately suggestive pun successfully detonated Granny Kobayashi's short fuse. She launched into another spectacular, creatively profane tirade, her voice rising to such a volume that it startled Mr. Tsuchikata on the second floor into poking his head out his window to investigate.
Just then, realizing he couldn't move the hefty bunk bed alone, Akira called out for help. With Mr. Tsuchikata's assistance, the two of them managed to wrestle the bed frame up to Akira's second-floor room.
"Thanks for the help, Tsuchikata-san."
Mr. Tsuchikata was a slightly portly, middle-aged man with black-framed glasses, a head of naturally curly hair, and a beard that threatened to merge with his sideburns. He wore a classic stand-collar jacket and shorts, his legs so hairy they resembled a pair of woolen trousers. His full name was Hijikata Isamu—a name heavy with Shinsengumi gravitas, though he himself didn't seem particularly fond of it.
Bent over with his hands on his knees, Tsuchikata was panting heavily, looking utterly spent. "Huff… I think I threw my back out. I really need to find time for regular exercise…"
"Want to join me for morning runs?"
"Running's out. I'm too heavy; it'd destroy my knees." After catching his breath, Tsuchikata looked at the bunk bed, a wistful expression crossing his face. "A bunk bed… how nostalgic."
That nostalgic look was a dead giveaway: Tsuchikata, like Akira, was a transmigrator. Most native Japanese, being day students, had no frame of reference for the humble dormitory bunk bed.
Three people currently resided under Kobayashi's roof, Akira included. They were roommates in the strictest sense—cohabitants sharing space, but with no deeper bond. None were eager to dredge up their pre-transmigration pasts. Perhaps those former lives hadn't been particularly happy ones.
"A new arrival?" Tsuchikata asked, glancing toward the bathroom.
"Yeah. But not 'one of us.'"
"Oh." Tsuchikata's interest visibly waned. He didn't press for details.
Just then, Shinomiya Shion emerged from the bathroom. Freshly bathed and clad in Akira's oversized tracksuit, her damp hair framed a face still flushed pink from the steam. Spotting Tsuchikata, she offered a polite bow. "Good evening. I am Shinomiya Shion. I'll be staying here starting today. You must be Tsuchikata-san. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Uh… yeah. I'm Hijikata Isamu…" Tsuchikata replied, his voice slightly dazed. Akira could practically hear the man's breathing hitch. No surprise there—Shinomiya's beauty had a physical impact on the male psyche.
To his credit, Tsuchikata—a man of two lifetimes—quickly regained his composure. He leaned in close to Akira, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Kid… your second life is really looking up, huh? Enjoy it. Don't worry about me next door; I've got noise-canceling headphones."
He punctuated the comment with a firm, knowing pat on Akira's shoulder and a wink that screamed 'We're all men here, I get it.'
With a final nod to Shinomiya, he retreated to his own room.
"..."
Why does everyone jump to that conclusion?!
I'm not going to do anything!
Shinomiya approached Akira, the clean, subtle scent of soap and shampoo lingering around her. The natural flush from her bath still graced her cheeks. "Um, Akira-kun… I saw a women's business suit in the laundry basket near the washing machine. Is there another resident here?"
"Oh, that would be Miss Toshiro's. She's the third person living here, besides me and Tsuchikata-sensei. Her room is right across from mine." Akira gestured to the door opposite. "Honestly, if she were around, borrowing clothes from her would've been ideal. But she's probably not home. I don't know exactly what Miss Toshiro does, but she's often out all night."
"I see…"
"Yeah. If you keep normal hours, you'll hardly ever see Tsuchikata-sensei or Miss Toshiro. They're both serious night owls. Tsuchikata-sensei works from home as a programmer, coding through the wee hours. The perpetual late nights have left him in a state of chronic sub-health… kind of like me in my past life." The thought was depressing. Even after transmigrating, some of us are still corporate slaves. What a bleak punchline.
As for Miss Toshiro… it sometimes felt like she was actively avoiding him. Akira still winced, remembering the time he'd simply called out a greeting from behind her. She'd let out a startled shriek and bolted several meters away.
That one hurt.
Miss Toshiro seemed to be operating on a level of social anxiety he couldn't quite fathom.
He hadn't yet decided whether to seek closer collaboration with these two 'compatriots.' Just sharing a point of origin didn't guarantee a tearful, supportive reunion in a foreign land. The old saying about countrymen not swindling countrymen wasn't universally true, and that went double for transmigrators with unknown pasts and agendas.
For now, it seemed neither Tsuchikata nor Miss Toshiro were willing to open up about their former lives. And honestly, neither was he.
"By the way," Akira said, changing the subject with a casual tone that belied his intent to tease, "we'll be sharing a room tonight."
"Eh? Eh, ehhh?! R-really? We're… sleeping together…?"
Even with her S-rank composure, Shinomiya couldn't fully suppress the surge of surprise—and panic—that flashed across her features. Even the idea of laying out futons side-by-side was an unprecedented scenario for her.
Sleeping next to a boy… What if he secretly crawls into my futon in the middle of the night? How should I react?
Should I resist? Or… just quietly accept it…?
In exchange… my first…
As her imagination spiraled into chaotic, blush-inducing territory, Kuroha Akira—whose only goal was to fluster her—flung open his bedroom door with a theatrical flourish and a mischievous grin.
"Ta-daa! Behold!"
Shinomiya's wide eyes landed on the first and only piece of furniture in the otherwise sparse room: a sturdy, no-frills bunk bed.
...Ah.
Of course. Akira-kun wouldn't actually be that kind of person…
Shinomiya secretly vowed to give herself two mental slaps the next time her thoughts wandered down that path.
"So," Akira asked, leaning against the frame. "Top bunk or bottom?"
"Top!" The answer came instantly, her eyes sparkling with a sudden, decisive light. She pointed emphatically. "I want to sleep on top! Above you!"